“So you come from Anna, do you?” she remarked. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. Earles,” Anna said. He had reacted by pushing her away, disgust and frustration on his face. And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean. Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood. They both listened intently.
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